


a stone on the riverbed

by TomBowline



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Autistic Edward Little, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, POV Lt Edward Little, Sensory Overload, Unusual Intimacy, unorthodox symptom management strategies ft your boyfriend's sweater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26626489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: He wanted to crawl under something heavy and warm and safe; hide away from all the noise and disorder of the day.Edward finds himself overwrought. Thomas has an unusual solution.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	a stone on the riverbed

**Author's Note:**

> this fic brought to you by...projection! (the crowd goes wild)
> 
> title from mary oliver's poem ["sleeping in the forest"](https://www.ikedacenter.org/thinkers-themes/thinkers/poems/oliver).

Edward had been feeling rather apocalyptic all day. 

Mid-morning there had arisen a clamor on the weather deck. Edward had arrived to see a scene of disarray - panicked sailors running this way and that, some shouting to each other, some yelling indecipherably to Edward. Rather than rise above the panic and leap to action as a lieutenant ought to, Edward had found himself frozen, mind shut down, unable to make a move. It had been the noise, he thought - all those discordant words trying to catch his attention and the screeching of the ice against the hull besides. 

Whatever the cause, it was an inexcusable lapse. It had taken Master Blanky’s timely arrival on deck and commanding bullhorn voice to settle the men; Edward could barely collect his thoughts enough to demand an explanation from the subdued sailors in his officer’s voice. 

He had dismissed the men promptly when it was sorted (they had thought the beast was attacking again, evidently, but it had clearly been a false alarm; he’d distributed duty owing amongst the instigators more lightly than he could have, for it was clear they had meant no harm and he understood what fear could do to a man) and, to his shame, had had to repair to the muffled darkness of slops storage for five minutes together to regain his faculties. He had spent the rest of the day feeling stretched and unsociable, bothered by every noise and just barely able to carry out his duties. _It will be alright,_ he found himself thinking at every new hurdle the day presented, _if I can just get through to tonight. If I can make it to the end of the day and see Thomas, I will be alright._

Over the long months they had been frozen in, his connection to the Captain’s Steward had gone from sexual assignations to something else. It was something that had them letting the lamp burn late and lying curled about each other to talk of Edward’s days as a middie and Jopson’s time hunting slave ships, of Edward’s many sisters and Jopson’s only brother, of anything and everything that was sweet to remember. They talked also of what was not so sweet, their past experiences and present worries; Edward spoke of these more freely than Jopson, whom Edward suspected was reticent out of loyalty to those concerned and loved him the better for it, though he did wish he could ease his burdens. The attraction that first led them together had grown up the trellis of their assignations and blossomed into trust and true affection, strong enough to bear them both up yet delicate enough that care must be taken with it.

Tonight they were wedged in together on Edward’s bunk, Thomas lying back with Edward’s face resting on his hip and limbs wrapped around his legs. Thomas’ socked foot traced the line of Edward’s shin absently as the two of them laid there in silence, breathing together.

Their time together had calmed Edward’s mind somewhat, but he still felt somehow pulled taut and unable to think clearly. It was quieter in the cabin than it had been that day, mercifully; still, the clomp of boots overhead and the intermittent groaning shriek of their ship being slowly crushed in on them made it difficult to string two thoughts together. He wanted to crawl under something heavy and warm and safe; hide away from all the noise and disorder of the day (of the entire blasted voyage). 

“What are you thinking of?” Thomas asked softly.

Edward sighed, the sound of a gasket venting steam, and marshaled his thoughts with difficulty. “When I was young I would jump onto my bed whenever our housekeeper came in with the freshly-aired bedspread. She would snap it into the air and send it gusting down and it would fall onto me so gently and make everything dark and calm.” As he listened Thomas brought a hand up to stroke Edward’s hair back into place in an unhurried rhythm, combing strands from where they had caught in his muttonchops and tucking them behind his ear. “She would do it over and over again, she knew how much I liked it. Always pretended she couldn’t find me at the end. Never scolded or shooed me out.” He sighed again, long and unsteady.

“And you wish you had a warm bedspread to lie under now?” Thomas’ voice was gentle, his hand a welcome weight as it traced Edward’s shoulder. 

“I wish I had anywhere warm and safe and quiet to be,” Edward admitted. “These nights with you are all that comes close. Noise on a ship never used to bother me, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. It eats at me, Thomas. I can’t stand it, the clamor and the death and the decisions.”

Thomas took a firmer grip on the round of his shoulder then, voice earnest but not harsh as he replied. “There is nothing the matter with you, Edward. It takes a toll on us all.”

“There is,” Edward insisted, “there must be if I cannot do my job. What sort of a lieutenant shrinks from decision-making?” He knew he was paying Thomas a poor reward for his reassurances, growing agitated and argumentative; could not force himself to desist.

Thomas sounded tired indeed when he spoke again. “The sort who is worn thin and overburdened, the sort who’s feeling the strain of two winters in ice. The sort who is human, Edward.”

“Yes,” Edward made himself say, then, “I’m sorry.”

The only reply Thomas made was to dip his thumb beneath Edward’s collar and start stroking the back of his neck. Edward understood himself to be forgiven.

There was silence in the little room for some time after that. When Thomas spoke up again, his voice was lighter: “Shall I tell you a story, Edward?”

“Please.” Edward craned his neck to see Thomas’ face; poised, gazing softly down at him, clearly with a point in mind.

“When I was small,” Thomas began, and oh, Edward would listen closely indeed to this. He would hang on every one of Thomas’ words and try to commit them to memory, as he did on each rare occasion when Thomas opened some part of his childhood to Edward’s scrutiny.

“We had a hot-water flask,” he continued, “that was my father’s - he had a pain in his back, I understand. By the time I could remember anything, it would be passed between my mother’s bed and my brother and I, from night to night during the winter. And sometimes—” Edward saw a smile light Thomas’ face then, sheepish and fond. “I would be in bed before my brother, and I would get to curl up around the hot-water flask and feel the warmth of it travel outward where it was pressed to my belly. My mother sometimes gave it to us anyway when it was her night.” His smile sagged somewhat. “And I was too young to think how much colder she would be than us, sleeping by herself, and so I always took it.”

Edward pressed the side of his face into the thick wool of Thomas’ jumper, trying to let him know that he felt with him.

“Anyways,” said Thomas, giving a short little sigh that seemed to close something off. Edward let him have his locked doors; let himself imagine he would have time to find each and every key. “What I mean to say is that that hot-water flask was what safe was for me, like your bedspread.”

Edward nodded. It made sense. Thomas went on: “Perhaps if you will be my hot-water flask, I can be your bedspread.”

This made less sense. Edward frowned, still feeling overwrought and now facing down the familiar task of trying to pick up a lost conversational thread. At last he gave up: “You’ll have to come again,” he said apologetically.

“Sit up a moment,” Thomas said with a tap on his shoulder, “I’ll show you.”

Edward did as he was bid; Thomas lifted the hem of his jumper to reveal his bare stomach - after their earlier exertion was finished they had both slipped jumper and drawers on to keep warm under the small standard-issue blanket, but Thomas had foregone his shirtsleeves, and the jumper draped large across his frame with nothing underneath it. He was tapping his belly now, indicating— 

“Lay your head here,” he instructed gently, “and see if it’s warm and quiet enough for you.”

There ensued a bit of a shuffle as Edward resituated himself on Thomas’ other side, curling into almost a perfect mirror of his first position - with the distinction that his cheek rested on Thomas’ bare skin now, rather than the wool of his jumper. When he was still and comfortable, cold nose pressed in just above Thomas’ bellybutton, Thomas let the red wool fall back over his face and his world went dark.

At once, Edward felt himself begin tangibly to relax. The lack of light and the muffling of sound was a mercy beyond belief; he could be at ease now, and not have his mind reaching out compulsively to process every bombardment that came its way. It was warm between the soft skin of Thomas’ belly and the wool that had rested there a moment ago, not stifling as it was in an overheated cabin but soothing, safe. Edward felt the tension unspool from his entire frame as he breathed in Thomas’ familiar scent - regulation soap with a hint of something verdant, orange or bergamot or something Edward had forgotten the name for; the smoke of the cookstove, gathered while waiting first for the officers’ supper and then for his own; under it all, a slight savor of fresh sweat and the scent of exertion that was unique to Thomas. Its effect bordered on the magical: Edward felt recovered entirely now, ready to face ten command meetings together if he were called to. He would much rather stay here with Thomas, however, and enjoy the brief miraculous oasis he had made for him.

He turned his head in closer to press a kiss to Thomas’ navel. “Thank you,” he murmured, hoping he would be heard through the wool. “You’ve no idea what you’ve given me. This is wonderful.”

Thomas reached up under the woolen curtain to stroke Edward’s cheek. “Thank _you_ , love,” he replied in a small drowsy voice.

It was not long before Edward felt Thomas’ breaths grow slow and even as he drifted off beneath him. With his world dark and still and surrounded by Thomas, Edward had less trouble than usual following him to sleep.


End file.
